


Amnesty For the Brokenhearted

by Thistlerose



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning, Star Trek: Into Darkness Spoilers, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone and grieving, Carol longs for the one person who could comfort her - but Christine Chapel is on the other side of the galaxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amnesty For the Brokenhearted

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Sail_Aweigh for beta reading!
> 
> Since Carol is looking back on what transpired in the movie, this story contains references to death and violence, though nothing too terribly graphic, I think.

For the third time since her return to Earth, Carol Marcus woke up screaming. She sat straight up in bed, kicking her covers away from her, as if by doing so she could kick away her dream. Unfortunately, all that did was leave her feeling exposed, but instead of reaching for her blanket again, she tucked her legs up to her chest and pulled her nightshirt down over her bare knees. She huddled there in the dark, rocking slowly back and forth, her face buried in the crook of her elbow. 

Her dream hunkered around her like a live thing; she could practically feel its hot, heavy breaths against the back of her neck. Memories wormed their way in, through every crack they could find:

Khan’s hands on her father’s face

Worse than the pain – at least in her memory – the _sound_ of her leg snapping

Khan’s fingers around her father’s face

Unable to rise

Unable to look away

The _crunch_ as her father’s skull shattered, blood welling between Khan’s long fingers, her own screams scraping her throat raw while her last words to her father echoed in her ears: _I’m ashamed to be your daughter._

She had been. She still was, though now that she was back on Earth, now that she had seen and spoken with her mum, older memories were beginning to surface, to vie with the more recent ones:

Her father lifting her into her pony’s saddle when she was six

Praising her hand drawing of a human cell, which she’d copied from one of her mum’s biology texts

His look of pride when she told him she’d been accepted to Starfleet Academy

And again, when she received her doctorate

She didn’t want to think of these things because she wanted to stay angry with him, to hate him. All of this, all the death and destruction was _his fault._ Yes, Khan had planted the bomb in London; and, yes, he had attacked Starfleet Headquarters, and the _Enterprise_ , and San Francisco. Yes, he had killed many people. But her father was the one who’d found him and brought him out of cold sleep, who’d used him to militarize Starfleet and construct the _Vengeance._

Her father.

And she hadn’t seen it coming, not really. Oh, a few things he’d said in recent months had clicked in her mind, and yes, those torpedoes had aroused her curiosity. But she’d never truly suspected that he – that someone she’d _loved_ and trusted – could have had such a twisted soul.

A shudder worked its way through her.

She wished that her mum were here instead of back in England, to hold her and brush her hair the way she used to when Carol was a little girl. Then again, her mum would probably have told her that she’d known almost from the start that her father had a megalomaniacal streak. And while she might not have been wrong, that wasn’t what Carol needed to hear.

She wished that her half-brother, Peter, were here instead of off on Minai III, where he was studying K’Shaaran mysticism. Not that Peter would’ve known what to say to her, or she to him. Apart from being nine years younger, he was about as introverted as she was outgoing. Besides, he hadn’t really known her father, and he’d never understood why Starfleet meant so much to her.

Carol’s arms fell slowly to her sides and she raised her head. Staring into the darkness, she thought _I wish Christine were here_. And then she felt an emptiness in her chest, a hollow pit, like something had been scooped out of her, and her eyes filled with tears. She let them fall in a steady trickle down her cheeks, not caring that they were dampening the collar of her nightshirt, though she did swipe ineffectually at her nose when it began to run.

Christine.

Why did she have to be so far away? Christine would’ve known what to say to her, what to do. Christine wouldn’t have said anything. She’d have kissed Carol’s forehead, tucked her hair back behind her ears with those long, elegant fingers of hers, put her arms around her, and held her. Just _held_ her, spooning up against her in the bed, her forearms tucked under Carol’s breasts. Exactly the way Carol had held Christine the night she realized how little she’d meant to Jim Kirk. And before that, when Christine’s jerk of a fiancé, Roger Korby, had broken off their engagement. Both times, Carol had held her until she’d fallen asleep, safe in her arms.

That was exactly what Christine would’ve done.

If she were here.

How Carol had hated Roger Korby for hurting her. Though a small, selfish part of her – maybe something she’d inherited from her father, she now thought bitterly – had been glad when he’d cut her loose. Not that she’d ever truly believed Christine would turn to her – in a romantic way – but Korby hadn’t deserved her. And neither had Jim Kirk.

Carol had wanted to hate Jim too. In fact, she’d had every intention of making him suffer – somehow – once the matter of the torpedoes had been dealt with to her satisfaction. She’d changed her mind over the course of their mission; Jim was a good captain, and probably a decent man. He had literally given his life to stop Khan from destroying the Earth, and now he lay in Starfleet Hospital, not quite dead but not exactly alive either. She was still a little confused on that score. He’d died – she’d been there when they’d unzipped his body bag – but Doctor McCoy thought there was hope…

Curling over her knees, Carol pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead, and closed her eyes. Maybe she should have gone into molecular biology after all, she thought. 

In any case, she hoped with all her heart that McCoy was right, and that Jim would live. She didn’t understand it, and it didn’t seem fair that Jim Kirk might get a second chance when so many others didn’t … but she wasn’t terribly concerned with fairness just now. If they could get back even _some_ of what they’d lost, she told herself she wouldn’t question it.

But she wanted Christine. Tears stung her eyes again, but this time she struggled to hold them back. Keeping her lips pressed closed, lest a pathetic sound escape, she inhaled and exhaled through her nose, slowly, steadily, for a minute or two. When she was certain she had herself under control, she lifted her head again.

The timepiece on her bedside table read 4:17. A bit early to be up and about, she supposed, though the mess hall would be opening in less than forty-five minutes, and the sky would be lightening even sooner. She could go for a jog in the brisk morning air, grab a coffee, and then watch the sunrise from that hill overlooking the bay. A nice idea, if she could make herself move.

Her hand went instinctively to her leg. The bone was healed, of course, though the bruises were still there, vivid even in the dimness. Doctor McCoy had offered to take care of those for her, but she’d refused. They would fade soon enough – her fair skin tended to bruise easily, though even without medical intervention she usually healed rather quickly – but she supposed she’d always remember where they’d been. Just as she’d always remember the sound—

She winced as it echoed in her skull: that dry _crack_. She brought her legs back up to her chest and hugged them protectively. Perhaps she wouldn’t take that jog, after all. Some other time, but not today.

She had to do something, though. She was far too wound up to go back to sleep, and even if she could, she’d probably only end up dreaming about Khan and her father and everything else. She tipped her head back and stared blindly at the ceiling for a few moments.

Then she thought of something she could do, something that probably wouldn’t make her feel all that much better, but maybe, _maybe_ just a bit less alone in the universe.

Carol unfolded her legs and slid gingerly off the bed. She didn’t need lights to find her way to the small cabinet where she’d stowed her more precious keepsakes, the small things she took with her wherever she went: the blue mittens her Grandma Gloria had knitted for her; a short lock of hair that she’d cut from the mane of her first pony, shortly before he’d died, tied with a ribbon; a couple of medals she’d earned at the Academy; family photos; a shell she’d collected on her first off-planet trip; and a tiny projector.

She picked up that last item and, holding it in her cupped hands, she sank to the floor with her back to the wall. She hadn’t looked at this in months, and her fingers trembled slightly as she pushed the ON button.

Immediately, a tiny holographic image of Christine Chapel flickered into view. She was no taller than Carol’s forearm, and her outline continued to shimmer, especially when she moved to glance over her shoulder or flick a lock of hair away from her face. But her features were clear and recognizable, and if her voice sounded a bit small and lost in Carol’s dark quarters, at least the words were authentically hers.

“Well, here I am!” the recording of Christine said, a little breathlessly. “On the frontier. It’s … I guess what I expected, since I read all the reports. It’s nothing like San Francisco. Or even Wester Ross,” she added with a sly smile, and Carol found herself smiling back, because Christine was referring to the summer they’d spent at Grandma Gloria’s cottage in the Scottish Highlands. Riding horses over gorse-covered hills, swimming in ice-cold lochs, eating fresh-from-the-oven scones slathered in brandy butter…

“Sometimes it’s a little boring,” Christine continued after a small pause, as if she’d expected Carol to get a little lost in reverie. “A lot of the time, we just wait while the computer runs scans and analyses, and that can take a while. But if it’s safe, we get to beam down to the planet. I don’t need to go, since I’m just a nurse and if anyone is injured, we can beam him up to sickbay, but … I like to go. I like knowing I’m the first person – the first _human_ , I mean – ever to climb a particular hill, or follow a particular river. It’s exciting.” Her dark blue eyes lit up for a moment, but then she lowered them, her chestnut lashes fanning her cheeks, and her fingers moved nervously along the hem of her skirt. 

“I know what you think. You think I’m stupid for running off to the end of the universe because of a man. God, Carol. Maybe you’re right.” A corner of her mouth quirked. “I joined Starfleet because of Roger. I came out here because of Jim. If one more man disappoints me, I guess I’ll have to dive through a wormhole! It’s pathetic. You’d never do something like that.”

“Nope,” Carol said with a limp smile of her own.

“Or maybe … I don’t know. Maybe I’m out here because of me, too. Maybe I always wanted to leave home and travel to faraway places, but I needed a push. Maybe Roger and Jim were just the pushes I needed.” She lifted her eyes. “That’s how I’m choosing to look at it, since it makes me feel a little less pathetic. And maybe it’s true.” She shrugged. “I miss you, though.”

“I miss you too,” Carol whispered.

“I won’t bore you with everything that’s happening. I’ll save it for when we can actually talk. Then you can tell me to my face how silly you think I am. To be honest, I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” Carol said.

“Meantime, I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m not pining away, and I’ve already done just about the craziest thing I could’ve done. Unless you count going back to being a brunette.” She fingered her blond curls and that sly smile returned to her lips. “We’ll see. Anyway, I miss you. God knows where you’ll be by the time this reaches you, but I hope it’s somewhere exciting. I hope you’re having amazing adventures. I can’t wait to hear about them. I miss you. God, I’ve said that three times already, haven’t I?” She laughed, and Carol, despite herself, gave a phlegmy, croaking echo. 

“All right,” Christine said in her recording, “wherever you are, my dear, goodnight. Or good morning. Or whatever time it is. I hope we’ll talk soon.”

Then her image flickered out and Carol was left alone in her dark quarters. Well, not _so_ dark anymore. Dawn was coming. She could see the objects in her room more clearly now: the bed, the cabinet, her bedside table. If she pushed her curtains aside, she knew she’d see a dark blue sky, not a black one, and the stars would be fading.

Maybe she’d take a walk instead of a run. If she left now, and didn’t stop for coffee, she could still be at her favorite bench in time for the sunrise. 

“A nice idea,” she said to no one. “All right, then, Carol. Up you go.” And started to rise.

6/19/2013


End file.
